


She Laughs Like You

by Magpiie



Series: MadMcMoon [2]
Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 15:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21412762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpiie/pseuds/Magpiie
Summary: Post-Cairo, another take on Sweeney's  resurrection. Or, something just kinda nice happens to Sweeney for once.
Relationships: Laura Moon/Shadow Moon/Mad Sweeney
Series: MadMcMoon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559740
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	She Laughs Like You

**Author's Note:**

> "I laugh like me again, she laughs like you
> 
> I wouldn't know where to start  
Sweet music playing in the dark  
Be still, my foolish heart  
Don't ruin this on me"  
\- Almost, Hozier

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. A little disorienting, a little uncomfortable, but somehow peaceful - like rising slowly out of the darkness of a heavy sleep. A sleep so heavy your body must have been craving it for months, so all-encompassing that the twilight between sleep and wakefulness stretched out over minutes that felt like days, dreams mingling imperceptibly with reality. Sweeney soaked in the sensation of a gentle rousing from slumber. It must have been a long time since he'd had the luxury. Memories of jerking awake in a panic or sliding gracelessly out of a dream and into a hangover rose and fell through his thoughts. They all seemed like a very long time ago. He must have been asleep for a very long time. 

And then it occurred to him, with some annoyance, that he was cold.

_The ice cream truck._ No, that was wrong. A lot had happened since then. 

_ I died._ Ah, yes. That was it. 

There was one pool of warmth in the palm of his hand, and he lifted it groggily to his chest. The heat glowed dimly there, and his toes were still numb and his lips still frozen, but at least it might be enough warmth to sustain him. There was movement around him, sounds above him, but he wasn't ready to acknowledge them yet. When sleep - or death, which was it? - had let go of him, then he would face it all. 

His attention was focused entirely on the little shape in his hands - smooth and hot as a dark stone warmed in the sun - and, as life and feeling returned to his fingers, the knowledge that it was his lucky coin settled upon him. An image surfaced in his thoughts, of someone else who had been warmed by that coin, and then faded. He added that to the list of things to ponder once he woke up. 

The cold was settled deep in his bones, and it would not relinquish him without good reason. His coin was small and its warmth spread slow like thick honey, and as it went his muscles woke up and twitched in tired protest, his joints creaked and groaned. He couldn't be sure when he'd started breathing but it had now become a struggle, the way you have to fight for breath when cold water crushes it out of you, lungs freezing and burning all at once. 

And then, mercifully, a soft warmth settled on his forehead. He tried to speak, but no words would come; just a thin, rattling noise in the back of his throat. The sounds started up again - they must be voices, just muffled and distant - and then there wasn't just warmth on his forehead but against his chest and on his face and around his neck, and dimly he was aware that his arms were wrapped around some beautiful, nourishing warmth. 

It took a few moments for his thoughts to warm enough to recognise that it was Laura pressed against him, curled up in his arms, but he didn't find himself especially surprised by the fact. Of course it was her. 

"Laura," he mumbled hoarsely, numb lips thawing against her cheek.

"Yeah." Her voice was uncharacteristically tender. His death must have been rather gruesome to illicit such sympathy.

"Hm." There was something wrong about this moment, something that kept snagging in his brain, and he puzzled lazily over it a few moments. "Warm."

"Yeah."

"Good," he rumbled, though he wasn't sure why exactly that was good or how he knew it was. He held her until his shivering had mostly eased out, until he realised that she was speaking and that the words weren't directed at him, and then - with some effort - he opened his eyes. 

It took a little while for the dim room around him to swim into focus, and then it was like tripping over that invisible line into true wakefulness, and all at once he was aware of being in a motel room with the curtains drawn, looking up into the same face that he'd seen when he'd last closed his eyes. The thought made him chuckle, for some reason. 

"Shadow Moon," he murmured, the sound pouring deliciously out of his mouth. The difficult bastard part of his brain offered up a hundred remarks to make about being in bed with his wife, but he couldn't be bothered to start at that now. Instead he tilted his head a little to consider him more comfortably, all big and brooding.

"I'm sorry. About what happened," he started to say, but Sweeney shook his head ever so slightly and they shared a lingering look that held many more apologies than that. Finally, Sweeney cleared his throat.

"If you're that fuckin' sorry," he rasped, struggling to wrangle his words around his dry throat and shivering lips, "give me your fuckin' jacket." A wry grin broke Shadow's mask of concern, and he chuckled softly as he started to shrug off his thick winter coat, but Laura twisted in Sweeney's lap and patted the empty space on the bed next to him.

"C'mere, Shadow." 

After a moment of hesitation, he obliged. Sweeney watched him lean down slowly and perch apprehensively on the edge of the bed and, with a flare of bravery, slipped his icy hand under Shadow's jacket to pull him closer by the small of his back.

"Asshole," Shadow gasped at the cold, and Sweeney chuckled thickly against his shoulder. Everything was softened in that dim little room: the complaint of the mattress springs as Shadow settled down, Laura's little hum of satisfaction as they wrapped Sweeney up in a warming embrace. With the curtains closed, it was difficult to determine the time of day. Come to think of it, he couldn't even be sure what month it was. The ignorance was blissful. Perhaps the three of them could just lay here forever. If they stayed quiet enough, maybe nobody would ever come knocking at the door and ruin everything. There was no Grimnir, no war, no pining for a home that had forgotten him. Home was here, and it was sweet. 


End file.
